


Your Embrace is worth a Thousand Lifetimes [Revised]

by unpopularmyth (Chrysander)



Series: A Discourse for Lilies [6]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Crying, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Tentacle Rape, more ugly crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 00:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20844578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrysander/pseuds/unpopularmyth
Summary: The revised version of previous work.





	Your Embrace is worth a Thousand Lifetimes [Revised]

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Your Embrace is worth a Thousand Lifetimes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273909) by [unpopularmyth (Chrysander)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrysander/pseuds/unpopularmyth). 

The prey’s name is Dante. 

He is the son of the great traitor, Sparda.

Nelo knows this not because Mundus told him, but by listening to Trish and the Dark Emperor speak of him on several occasions. He knew that it was inevitable that he would be sent to kill the target. Though he hadn’t known at the time that such a thing would require a journey to the human realm.

He’s never been to the human realm. (a lie)  
He wondered if it was any different from Hell.

Demons thrive on devouring the blood of humans, yet Dante thwarts the attempts of many stronger demons trying to breach the barrier between the realms. Killing off would-be demon lords. In a sense, he was aiding Nelo to quell would-be usurpers as well. Even so, he was no ally.

As Nelo listened in silence, he gleaned the ultimate goal of Mundus’s plans. He wanted to orchestrate a gauntlet of challenges for the prey to face, to weaken him before capture. (The thought made his chest tight, his ears filled with the rhythm of panic.) Once this Dante was in custody he would ‘put him in his place, just like he did to his brother’.

Nelo did not wonder who this brother of Dante was, this second son of the traitor. No curiosity came to him to know the fate of this man; he felt as if he already knew. Well, it was logic. He would have been killed or made to swear allegiance to the Dark Emperor.

No surprise there.

When his name was finally addressed, he raised his head, entering the hall of his master. Shoulders squared, his chin squared at attention. He came to a stop in front of the King and bowed, waiting till he was relieved from the honor. Once he was standing again, his gaze shifted to the box under Trish’s arm.

“We will set out soon, are the troops ready in the portal room, Nelo?”

“Yes, My Lord.” He had readied the army there that morning, and they have been waiting ever since to act. Some of them had gotten impatient but quickly fell in line under threat. Nelo doesn’t bother to mention any of this, the army had done what they were told.

“Good. Before we start,” Mundus gestured towards Trish, who brought the box closer to Nelo. They opened it to reveal a broken katana among the black silk.

(The cracks spider-webbed up the blade, crackling ... Metal breaking off ... inconsequential at first... burst like splintering glass, only the sound was sharper, heavier.

The scant light of the ruins refracting off the kaleidoscope of shards...)

It was the most beautiful sword he had ever seen, yet it was useless in its current state. His gaze returned to Mundus as he waited for the demon to continue. The look he was being given was expectant, but after a moment it returned to its usual regal air, whatever test that had been, he must have passed, “You will give the blade a sacrifice of your blood. It is the key to open the demon realm.”

The key? This was the item Trish had been tasked to find for years now, then. Mundus’ mood had been souring lately, impatient for results. It was good that she finally found it.

At the silent gesture from Mundus to do as he was told, his armor vanished at his master’s will, he turned his attention back to the blade. As he grasped for it he felt a tingling of his fingertips, an overwhelming wish to keep a hold of the blade as he drew it slowly over his palm. He swore he could hear a hum from the blade as if it was calling him.

Returning it gingerly to the box, he watched as Trish took it away. A thoughtful expression crosses his features as he looks down to his bloodied palm, “Why my blood, sire?”

The silence that met the question nearly makes him flinch, “You are my most loyal commander, my dark knight. Why should I not give you such an honor?”

The tension in his shoulders relax, and he places the bloodied hand over his heart, bowing his head to his king. “Thank you, my lord, for such an honor.”

“You are dismissed, Nelo. Tell the troops that we are ready to begin.”

Nelo nodded, leaving the hall, closing the doors behind him. Before they are closed fully, he hears Trish question the King, “Why the smoke and mirrors with the sword? It’s been years, do you think his loyalty is still tumultuous?”

He stops the doors, listening carefully.

“On the contrary,” Mundus’ words came in clearer, though it was plain to tell he was being quiet. “It has been years, as you said. The truth of it is trivial at this point. He is mine.”

Nelo’s gaze lifted to the crack between the doors, a sliver as they were, he could swear Mundus was looking at him.

He lets the doors shut.

* * *

How esoteric was this human world? So strange, it was, with air that was clear of sulfur, yet thick with sea salt. Both quiet and a rancor of sound, bugs clicking, birds chirping. Some of the lesser demons loathed the noise and the smells.

To Nelo, it was comforting, almost.

He found himself watching the trees during the assembly, when final orders were being given, who would go where. Griffon was given the honors. That was alright, it freed up Nelo’s attention to the outside.

Once he is relieved to go to his post, he lingers in the garden, watching a pair of sparrows make a nest in a tree. Unbothered by the demons roaming around the castle.

Such mundane existence... Such a stark contrast to the constant fighting and danger in the Demon world.

Is this what the human world was?

He kind of liked it. Perhaps one day he could return. The thought made him frown; If Mundus succeeded, and he was likely to, Nelo could see earth again, but he knew it would be war-torn.

Such fragility wouldn’t last the war.

* * *

The man, Dante, entered the castle. Tasked with watching him from the confines of the mirror dimension, Nelo had seen him arrive from the reflective surface of the glass above the man. In the windows of the halls, the Cathedral’s windows until Phantom had crashed through it like a buffoon. Every reflective surface gave him surveillance over the man. It was rather strange, how similar the man’s features were to his own. Not enough, of course, the man was part human. His skin wasn’t demonic or pulsing with power. His skin wasn’t cold and pale but tanned by the sun. Their hair was the same color. Perhaps it was the man’s demonic heritage that sucked the pigment out of the locks.

That was where their similarities ended (only just begun).

The man’s eyes were pale, crisp blue. Nelo had gotten a good look at the man’s face when he had paused at a small mirror near the library. He was double backing already through the castles puzzles.

When Dante would enter the Castellan’s chambers, Nelo would be in the mirror. He watched the man check his visage in the mirror and sigh, turning away. Nelo grinned, manipulating the mirror enough that it set the man on edge when he turned to find his reflected staring back at him, moving without his will. It felt like a minor prank and had been fun in a brief moment.

“Didn’t think I’d meet anyone around here worth fighting,” Dante’s confident boast was almost charming. It did not hold malice, but the anticipation of a true challenge.

He’d give him that challenge.

Without a word, he led the man outside.

* * *

Nelo’s heart rang in his ears, in the courtyard on the other side of the Cathedral, he concentrated on steadying his breathing, his head pounded with pain. Dispelling his armor, he grasped the amulet around his neck like a lifeline.

How?! How could that man have an identical one?!

Not quite identical. The one Dante had was embedded in silver, with a silver chain.

(“No one can have this,-” He panted as he backed away toward the ledge, the slice through his rib-cage was unbearable, and he was sure that -- must have punctured a lung. “It belongs to -”)

The pain shocked through his skull again, Nelo doubled over, clutching his head. He could not tell if the pain was truly physical or not, if he could will it away or if it truly was his skull sundering the brain inside.

(“Leave me and go,” He pointed a long thin blade at -- when he took a step toward him, “if you don’t want to be trapped in the demon world.” His footsteps were unsteady, would he survive the fall?

Did it matter if he did?)

Nelo waited for the pain to ebb, as it finally did, he gathered his surroundings again, he was somewhere by the gardens. He took the solace to recover, rubbing the temple with one hand, his other still clutching his amulet tightly. Gently running his thumb over the jewel. It seemed to soothe the pain. Which could only mean it was psychosomatic.

Mundus had given him the ‘bauble’. Why did Dante have a matching amulet? Was there some significance that Nelo was missing?

Those visions... They were strange in that they felt almost like waking dreams, he could almost feel the mist of the waterfall on his skin, the soaking of his clothes, smell the blood. He could almost feel the biting pain of his ribs slowly knitting back together, and the careful breaths he had to take to be sure that his lung didn’t collapse on him while he was speaking. How undignified it would have been... How shameful he already felt.

Such a vivid dream.

The sound of the door to the opening of the garden drew him from his thoughts, his gaze settling on Dante. The armor encased him again as he stepped out from the shadows.

“There you are!” Dante’s tone was smug, but not in a taunting way, “Something spooked ya, and you jetted? We haven’t finished our fight!”

It was just a dream.

Nothing more.

“Hm... Your right,” Hoisting his sword, he pointed it at Dante, “Let us finish this, Dante.” Speaking the name for the first time, it felt natural to drawl out the A and to hit the T hard. It was different than how he’d heard Mundus or Trish say it, but it felt... right.

* * *

Blinding, mind-numbing pain throbbed behind his eye sockets once it struck mid-fight. He’d staggered Dante, raising his dark steel claymore for the final blow, when something in him stiffened at the thought. He hesitated at the last moment, allowing Dante to deflect him. They traded blows, sword against sword until Nelo backed away.

The pain in his skull was too much, he couldn’t fight like this.

“Hey, you alright? Your sluggish,” Dante’s concern was spurred, no doubt, from wanting the camaraderie of a fair fight.

A fight he couldn’t provide in this state.

“Something up?” Dante tried asking again, instead of answering or continuing, Nelo retreated again. Ignoring the man as he called after him.

Once he was alone, he let the armor drop again, panting as he had to collect himself again.

(Plunging himself into the abyss, air rushes by him as he fell... He concentrates on breathing, wincing with the pain in ribs.

‘I'm not healing as fast as usual. Why hadn't I been able to do it? Why did I hesitate?’ Clutching my mother's gift, I have no answers...)

The sharpness of the pain this time was enough to make him cry out, collapsing to one knee as he rakes his hands through his hair. Mothers gift? He had... no mother...

An image of Trish in a red shawl and a kind look on her face comes to mind. How unbecoming of her. She would never be caught dead in such maiden like attire. Pulling the amulet from his clothes, he rubs it as he tries to squelch the unbidden visions.

(The smell in the air is changing, I open my eyes, looking behind me... Twisting my body so that I would land on my feet, the pillar beneath me quivers as I make contact... it topples beneath me. Failing to catch myself, I land in a heap in the shallow waters, rolling until I stop on my side.

Agony follows, blinding my eyes and searing through my chest. I try to get up, twice. I could not. So in the water, I remained... I find myself flinching at every ambient sound around me as I wait for my wounds to heal.

Soaked through to the bone, shivering in the chill of the water.)

His body shakes, but not from the cold. He was born in the cold, in the dark. The echo of footsteps pound in his head, nearly drowning out the footsteps he could hear echoing in the hall. He forces himself to stand, turning away as he concentrates on the steady click of heels.

Trish.

“Hey kid,” Her tone was contemptible, it grinds at the little patience I have left from my pain, “You got new orders.”

New orders?

Once he is sure that his pain is concealed he turns towards her, “What orders?”

“Mundus wants you to kill Dante.” Trish’s voice booms in the ballroom and Mundus’ orders echoed through her. Shaking through him to his core, he could feel the order echo incessantly in his mind. What used to feel natural and welcome now felt alien, what was happening to him?

“I have heard the Dark Lord, and I follow his will,” Nelo says automatically, even as he wanted to rip his fingers through his eyes to get the echoing out of his head. He choked down that sensation.

He barely noticed as she began to walk away, satisfied that the order was received, “Trish, wait.” It comes out of his mouth before he could stop himself, but now that she has turned towards him expectantly, he would need to follow through. “Who is Dante?”

“If you were paying attention, Nelo, you’d know.” She shifted her weight to one hip, her hand placed on that hip, “He’s the son of the traitor, Sparda.”

No, there’s more to it.

“That’s... not what I’m asking,” He begins, but he unsure of where he is going with this, “He has an amulet that is--” Nelo stops when Trish places her finger to her lips.

“Are you really asking about a throwaway bauble?” She chides him, and he sneers at her for doing so.

“No.”

“Well then,” She spreads her arms in a shrug before leaving him alone in the ballroom.

Nelo stands there, listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the rustle of trees echoes in the ballroom. Stepping to the open windows, he peers out toward the sunset in the distance. The human world was beautiful. Something inside yearned to feel the sand between his toes, and the smell of roses and wildflower. Which was ridiculous, there were no flowers of the sort on Mallet island, and yet he was yearning for things he could not know of.

Nelo closed his eyes, he swore he could imagine the smells of a flower, the feel of the sand, the taste of salt on his tongue. Such fantasies were beneath him, but he had time, didn’t he?

The crashing of the waves boom in his ears...

(There was a splash in the distance, then another, the ground shook with it. Whatever was coming, it was big.

Frantically, I force myself to my feet, my grip tight on ---. I refuse to be caught on my back, not here. The voice echoed, boomed in my ears, "Such fragility, can you even manage to stay standing?" My heart beats frantically, I am not ready, I know this...

I’m too injured from my fight with -----, but I discard my scabbard. If I am to die here...)

“Do you remember when we made sandcastles with mom, at the beach?” There it was again, that disembodied voice breaking through the vision like it was made of glass, though this time it sounded familiar. Confident, a swagger in phonetic tone.

“You buried me so far in the sand I couldn’t get out, then you threatened to leave me there because you said I was probably a fish person.”

Nelo frowns hard at the ridiculousness of this story, but just as he is about to turn around he hears the doors in the far hall open. The apparition is gone anyway, along with its phantom voice. With a wave of his hand his armor returns, and he waits as Dante enters the room with caution, only to grin when he is spotted.

“Back on your feet so soon?” Dante pulls his sword from his back, swinging it around before pointing it at him, “Good, I was hoping for a round three. But I’m gonna warn ya, I won’t be holding back this time.”

“Don’t fret, neither will I,” Nelo shifted to the ready.

The ballroom echoed with the sound of their swords clashing.

* * *

Nelo staggered from a hard-won blow, the cracking of his helm ringing in his ears. Now useless, he pulls it off and discards it, the metal echoes on the ballroom’s marble floors. Yet even its sound is nothing compared to the gasp from Dante.

“Vergil?!” The shock on the man’s face didn’t really belong there, too accustomed to the confidence there perhaps.

The name he called out didn’t quite register with him, his head ached. Shaking the disorientation, he charged forward, intent on making Dante regret that moment of hesitation. Nelo would succeed the clash this time, whe man's block was sloppy, it left him open, and he kept up the pressure, nearly staggering the Devil Hunter with each blow. The echoing command in his head had grown into a chorus, edging him further into pain. This wasn’t like the psychosomatic pain from the visions; he knew the difference. If he did not strike this man down as Mundus bid of him, the pain would throb into agony, until he was left writhing on the ground.

He’d avoid that if he could, he’d failed twice already to best the man, he doubted the Dark Emperor had the patience for a third failure. He needed to win, he needed to kill this man. Only then, he would once again be given peace.

Nearly there, he was so close to his victory. So close to glory. So close to peace.

Just stay down.

It would be quick if he would just stay down.

Dante crashed onto his back into the stairs, blocking in just enough time to prevent Nelo's blade from sinking into him. Finally. Dante was pinned down now, with little leverage against the Angelo. If Nelo pressed his blade down deep enough, the man would be dead, regardless of how hard he fought to stop the descent of the blade toward him. Using one armored hand on the blade, Nelo pushed, caring not as the edge dug into the chitin, and into his hand.

"Vergil, it's me," Dante pleaded below him, trying to beseech him, "It's Dante."

Nelo caught the name clearly this time. Vergil. Did Nelo look like this man named Vergil? Did Dante think he was this man? It made sense perhaps if he looked enough like this Vergil to give Dante pause. On one hand, it was disappointing for such an honorable swordsman to fall to sentiment.

He watched the man move one of his hands away from his own blade, giving the Angelo's blade more leverage to press into his shoulder. Dante pulled something from under the confines of his clothing; the pendant that was identical to his only possessions but with a silver chain.

It's twin.

For a moment he wondered if Dante was turning his earlier shock against him, but that couldn’t be right. If that had been the case, Dante would have done the same in the garden, and he did not. No, he was just as honor-bound as Nelo.

It was a damn shame that he was ordered to kill this man. If he hadn’t been, if they’d become allies under Mundus’ rule, he would have liked to fight alongside him. They could match each other blow for blow, how graceful they would have been, side by side, perfectly in sync. A beautiful fury to behold on the battlefield.

There he goes again, yearning for something he could not hope to understand. A flight of fancy that could not exist. Not now, nor ever.

Shifting the grip of his blade, he gave a hard shove down, causing the claymore to cut through the cloth and into Dante's shoulder. Earning a sound of pain and agony from the man; it was a sweet sound, Nelo could not help but smile.

"Damn it. I guess I should have expected that." Dante gasped, grasping one of his arms, "look, I know we never got along, but I really need to come through for me right now, buddy."

Nelo was not stirred by his weak appeal, the smell of blood filled his senses as he pressed the claymore deeper, intent on breaking the man's bone. The pained gasp earned a weakly placed kick, it wasn't enough to force him off.

Why was Mundus so intent on setting a trap for this man, only to tell him to kill him?

"Vergil!" Dante reached up toward him, his teeth gritting against the pain as his collarbone snapped, "If you can hear me in there," The outstretched hand cupped the side of his face, "it's alright," caressing the pale, cracked skin with his thumb.

What...?

"I get it. And, you know what?" The feel of the calloused thumb, the gentleness of his touch bewildered Nelo, why was he doing this?

"I always wanted to go out gun's blazing," Why was he giving him this speech?

"Heh, well not in this case, but that's okay. Could be figurative," Dante gasped, smiling up at him.

Though his smile faded, and tears gently streamed down his beautiful cheeks, "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

Why was he crying?

"Sorry I let you fall," Why was he apologizing?

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you, brother."

(A little boy slams his fists against a locked cabinet, “Open! Open damn it! I want to know... if my brother is alive.” Tears fell to the floorboards, resting his head against the cabinet, dread sank into his heart. “O-oh... If Dante was alive, you would be open.” So that was it then.

If only he hadn’t been so pathetic...)

The pain that ripped through his skull was both as physical as it was mental. As if he’d finally come up for air, Nelo gasps big gulping whoops of air. Nearly falling back if it hadn’t been for an arm steadying him, the claymore clatters to the ground, “There ya go!”

His eyes searching the figure before him, the man who was in shocked tears below him. Dante? Was that Dante?

(Holy stars, it was him! Young and beautiful and so alive! Vergil was overcome with panic, with excitement, and the tears he hadn’t shed since he was a child threatened at the corner of his eyes to break through his carefully maintained facade. He had to turn away, he had to leave before he made himself known. Before he made a complete fool of himself.

If only he could have kept it together...)

"D...Da-" His words trailed off as if he was afraid that if he called out his name it would prove to be just an illusion.

“That’s right,” Dante smiled up at him, holding his face, Nelo was leaned against a wall.

His head was reeling, he turned his gaze away. It had to be an illusion. Another figment of his delirious mind coming to taunt him again. He was back in his cell, on the edge of death again, wasn't he?

(“This place was our father’s home,” He saw the man's hand again, outstretched, but unable to reach him - just a boy then. Someone like Dante, who wore his heart on his sleeve, shouldn't go to the underworld.  
Hell wasn't a place for someone like his brother. He'd sliced that hand as he’d fallen back into the abyss below.

If only he hadn’t been so weak...)

As his gaze swept around the room, taking in the smell of blood from the battle, the sound of waves crashing into the ridge outside, the distant call of birds, the fresh scent of the sea.

This...

This wasn't his cell.

"Vergil?" A shiver washed over him at the sound of the voice.

(He could have saved his brother the day that the sky burned...)

He couldn’t look at Dante, he didn’t want it to be just another figment, another lie his heart told to comfort him.

“Vergil, look at me, brother.” Gritting his teeth together he lifted his gaze, expecting everything he didn’t want to see. Yet instead of seeing that boy with the bloodied arm, he saw a man in all red, a smart waistcoat, a trench coat over top. Realistically he couldn’t have needed all those layers. "It's me, Vergil."

An anguished gasp escaped him when he confirmed it really was him, that this wasn't some fantasy or illusion. Lifting a shaky hand, he hesitated to touch Dante. This was too good to be real, but...

Dante's hand returned to the side of his face, "Whoa... Hey, you're alright?"

Stars. Dante was actually here. Doubt echoed through him, would he deserve this? The last he saw him, he was full of pride and hungry for power. It seemed so long ago...

"I guess this is that heartwarming reunion we talked about," Dante murmured, stroking his fingers through his hair. That was when proverbial damn broke, clasping his hand over his mouth to stifle a sob, doubling over himself he tried to hide his face as he became inconsolable.

"Let it out, Verge. I gotcha, Brother. I'm here." Dante's hushed words and soft tone didn't help stop the tearful cries, but as Dante pulled him into his embrace he clung desperately.

Dante was here. He was real. This was real.

Vergil gulped as he pulled his head from his brother's chest, reaching to pull some of his brother's unruly hair from his face as if that would help him see him better. He stilled as he saw the chitin like armor on his hand, his gaze going down to himself. To the armor that he was wearing, to the weapon he'd been using.

He was reminded of the nightmare then. Of Mundus’ plans. "D-Dante," He gasped, his voice raw and hoarse from his anguish, "Le-leave."

"What? Leave?"

"G-go!" Vergil grasped his brother’s shoulders firmly, "Y-you have to run."

"No can do, brother," Dante sat up all the way, wincing from the hand that clasped his injured shoulder. "Got unfinished business here."

“Unfinished...” A shot of chill ran down his back, and he shook his head firmly, "N-no. No. No-no-no. You must leave. You have to go."

"Can't do that, there's still an asshole that needs an ass-kicking."

Did his brother not realize? Did he not get it?

"Dante! You have to leave!" Nearly shouting, his voice cracking from the desperation in his voice, "Mundus is HERE!"

"Whoa, chill your horses, brother. I know."

Oh, gods, he was planning on fighting Mundus. The idiot doesn't get it, "You can't fight Mundus! You have to run! You have to leave!"

Dante stood from his spot on the stairs, determined, "Pretty sure that ship has sailed, brother. I came here to do a job, and that's exactly what-"

"Idiot! Just listen!" Vergil stood from his own spot, going after his brother’s retreating form. They stood there in the middle of the room to argue. The agony rolling through him told him he spent too long not following Mundus’ orders.

Oh, stars above and gods below... Mundus’ orders.

No...

"You can't stay, Dante. You can't fight M.. Mundus, he will kill you." Gasping through the pain, his head pounding with the words of Mundus' last order echoing over an over again.

/Kill Dante./

No. No-no!

/Kill Dante./

"Get out of here, Dante," He gasped. "Leave Malet Island, Dante. While you still can."

Dante noticed the sudden change in him, and he began to approach him.  
"What about you!?"

"Forget it! Forget you ever saw me!" His voice strained, his body felt like it was on fire.

"I can't do that, Vergil! You know I can't!" Dante's advance remained undeterred from his words, so he was forced to throw a volley of summoned swords in his path.

Vergil backed up, putting distance between the two, "Stubborn fool..." The agony from the armor was becoming too much to bear as it glowed, trying to spur him into action.

“Vergil?! What’s happening?!” Dante’s panic was thick, he knew if he could break Dante’s resolve, he would stop. He would leave.

“I will make you leave, brother.” He says as he picked up the Claymore, his body wanting to move on its own, or perhaps that interpretation wasn’t quite true. It wanted to go along the path of least pain. He pointed the claymore at his brother, his chest was on fire, a cold fury that threatened to consume him.

Mundus’ fury.

Their final clash was as desperate as it was quick, each of them not wanting to hurt the other at first. Vergil could feel his will dwindling, and he had no idea if whatever cognition he managed to regain would stay intact if he kept going.

He forced Dante’s hand, forced his brother to land a crippling blow on him. Vergil could have made the blow less damaging, but he didn’t want to change it. The sword ripped through him, their father’s sword, slicing the chain of his amulet.

It clattered to the floor between him, his gaze settled on it for a moment, but this time he resisted the urge to pick it up. He didn’t need it, where he was going.

“W-... WHY?!” Dante shouted, and when he tried to pull Force Edge from his chest, Vergil stopped him, instead, he drove himself deeper into the blade. “VERGIL! STOP!”

Kill Dante.

No.

He refused; he was not going to be a pawn anymore, even if it killed him. Frankly, he would rather die by his brother’s hand anyway, it was fitting.

Familiar.

Warm.

“Leave me, and go,” He gasped, the feel of Mundus’ vile energy surrounded him as the glow of the armor intensified. Unsure of what the bastard was planning, he shoved Dante back hard enough for him to lose balance and fall backward.

What happened next, he could not recall.

There was pain, light, and then he was numb.

Then there was darkness.

* * *

The sound of voices rang above him, growing in clarity as he woke. He tried to shift from his position, yet his body did not heed him. "That went well, he almost spilled the beans," That voice belonged to Trish, he was sure.

"Yet he did not, the plan remains. Trish, you know what needs to be done." The booming voice was Mundus, he knew. He could never forget.

"Yes, Master." The echoes of her footsteps marked her retreat. Vergil could feel the thick, moist tentacles wrap around his body, lifting him into the air. Opening his eyes he could see he was lifted high to be nearly level with Mundus' face.

"A truly pathetic attempt at rebellion, Vergil," The tentacles tightened around him until he was sure his body was beginning to break. "You gained nothing. Not freedom, not catharsis, not death, not even the reconciliation that you so desire."

The crackling of electricity marked the Demon King's annoyance, and Vergil could only smile. "You take amusement in your failures? Perhaps you have finally gone mad.”

Maybe he has, who knows?

“Your efforts were in vain, your brother is none the wiser. Trish will succeed where you have failed." Vergil gasped as the tentacles snaked more delicately around his body. "Fret not, Son of Sparda," Slipping under the armor's chest plate, "You may still only have one use left to me. I might even keep you after I dispose of your brother."

Gods, no.

"Though you fail as a soldier, I'm sure you'd make a fine pet." Vergil groaned in disgust as a tentacle wrapped around his neck, while others slid against exposed skin, trapped between his body and the armor.

Not again.

Please...

Please not again.

“St-stop!” He struggled as they invaded him, he cried out only for the tentacle to invade his mouth to shove its way down his throat, muffling him.

“Why should I? You brought no short amount of shame to my name by your stunt. If you were any other, I would have killed you painfully.” It was very apparent that the particularly painful violation was in punishment, “Perhaps a more fitting punishment for such a prideful thing as you, were to keep you by my bedside, chained to it at all times.”

After what seemed like an agonizing few hours (though was more likely mere minutes), the tentacles slipped out from under the confines of his armor and Vergil did not bother to stifle his relief as he was dropped to the floor. He landed roughly on his feet, falling to his knees before Mundus. He stiffened when a tentacle lifted his head to look up at the demon, “This time, when I take your name, I will leave it that way. A creature like you is not worthy of a name, nor the lineage that sired you. But fret not, you will serve a purpose. My little nameless whore for all eternity.”

The room spun around him, he wanted to vomit, but the bile would not come.

Mundus spoke to a gaggle of lesser demons that lingered there, "Take him back to his cell in Hell. His rehabilitation awaits."

The demons dragged him back through the unsteady portal, back into that prison. His weakened body unable to fight back as he was unceremoniously dumped back into that familiar circular room.

So this was it, this was his life now. His future but endless nights of torture and rape.

His brother... Dante.

He had to hope that he'd be alright, or alive, in the end, right?

Dante...

* * *

  
It had to have been a few hours that he sat alone in his cell, waiting for the cycles to start again. He’d been left in the Angelo armor, occasionally the pain from its enchantments would strike. Punishment in itself since he’d refused to follow through on killing his brother. It wasn’t as harsh as it should have been, maybe the last order it registered was for him to await his rehabilitation?

That had to be it.

Whenever the torturers would address him, that is. His gaze shifted away from the ground to the tallies on the wall where the bedding would have been set up. It was empty now, save for those old markings. How long had he been down here?

Breaking him from his reverie, the entire prison began to quake. The distant sound of metal shattering, and the pained howl of anger and hate that echoed throughout.

Vergil sat up, listening intently.

He was sure that sound was Mundus, in the throes of defeat.

A new sound echoed through the cell. Laughter, a soft peal at first, but it soon became raw rancor, filled with relief, hope, and desperation.

The sound came from Vergil.

It continued until his voice was close to breaking; tears fell slowly down his face, stinging against the crevices of his cracked skin.

Vergil could barely believe it...He did it.

Stars above, Dante defeated Mundus.

Dante did it...

The cell fell silent as he smiled towards the ceiling, the clamor of panic and dissent in the prison caused by the power vacuum seemed distant and fleeting.

Dante did it.

As the prison grew silent, Vergil wondered when he would see his brother again.

Soon...

He hoped it would be soon.

**Author's Note:**

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